


Your Voice

by psychobabblers



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames's ability to spell is sadly nonexistent, M/M, Texting, annoyed!Arthur, prompted, sick!Eames, the team sits around and eats donuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:10:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychobabblers/pseuds/psychobabblers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is sick and can't talk. Arthur takes care of him. Fluff and destruction of cell phones ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt over on inception_kink.  
> Prompt: Eames is suffering from severe laryngitis. He can't talk at all - he can only communicate via text messages and pen and paper. Arthur thought it would be a chance to enjoy some golden silence but Eames is EVEN MORE IRRITATING THAN USUAL and Arthur has about twenty nervous breakdowns during the course of Eames' flu.
> 
> FrontdoorLee has kindly translated this into Korean! [Go check it out](http://sima_uma.blog.me/150141478006) :)

It started with a sore throat. Neither Eames nor Arthur was particularly alarmed by this. They were in unsavory and unsanitary places often enough that a few days of feeling a bit under the weather was no cause for concern. Arthur had even remarked once when Eames had gotten under his skin just a tad bit too many times that it was just the result of his excessive talking and would he please be quiet for a few days to let his throat heal. Eames had simply grinned and ran his index finger down the curve of Arthur's ear, effectively making derailing his complaints.

Then had come the coughing.

"Could you—" Eames was overcome by a bout of vicious coughing. He opened his mouth to speak but only managed to wheeze out a few more mumbled words before subsiding into more coughs.

Arthur had looked up from his conversation with Cobbs when the coughing had started. Now he moved forward toward Eames, whose oxygen-deprived brain could only think of how Arthur's movements were efficient and graceful as ever, even when rushing. It was difficult to be graceful when rushing. Sure, they could all be efficient during times that called for speed, but Arthur? Arthur could do it with style.

"Eames?" Arthur asked quietly. He didn't ask him if he was feeling all right, because he very obviously wasn't, and just wrapped two strong arms around Eames's torso and lifted him so that he was upright again. Two cool fingers pressed against the side of his head, and he sighed with relief. "He's burning up," Eames distantly hears Arthur's voice say to somebody in the background. Then there's a lot of moving around, the sensation of being laid on uncomfortable leather seats that had never seemed so uncomfortable before and Arthur's smooth driving, being gently placed on a bed that feels itchy and sheets that feel constricting.

* * *

When he awakens, he feels like his throat has swollen to the size of a tennis ball and someone had smacked it back and forth across a net a few times. It's too hot under the cover so he shoves them off himself. Instantly though, he starts shivering, goosebumps rising up on his exposed skin.

"Eames?" Arthur steps back into the room looking weary and haggard, a cup of coffee in his hands.

Eames wants to say something amusing, something annoying, something that will erase the worry he sees, but all that comes out is an unfortunate croak. He must have looked surprised at the sad state of his voice though because the other man's face relaxes into a small smile, just a twitch of his lips really, but Eames can see how amusement gentles the tight lines on Arthur's face.

"I did tell you that you shouldn't try to talk," Arthur says as he settles down into an armchair besides the bed. He sips the coffee slowly, and suddenly Eames wonders how long he'd been out, and whether Arthur had been up the entire time. Warmth and guilt floods him—at least until he hears the barely audible, "Maybe I'll finally have some peace and quiet."

He longs to retort, but has to restrain himself because he'll only end up sounding like a dying sheep if he tries. He settles for a glare that Arthur pointedly ignores.

* * *

The next day, Ariadne comes over to visit. She obviously likes him better than Arthur does, because she comes bearing a gift—his cell phone. "Now you can just text things to us when you want something!" she says cheerfully, oblivious to Arthur's as close to frantic as Eames had ever seen movements to the negative. And if the smile Eames gives her in thanks turns just a shade more evil when it meets Arthur's eyes, well then he deserved it, after he'd complained about Eames's talking too much.

The point man just sighs, glances at his watch, and leaves to get Eames's medication.

* * *

_Bzzzz._ Arthur glares at his phone. _Bzzzz_ , it buzzes again, sounding more insistent this time. He glances up at Eames, sitting up in the bed, biting the bottom of his lip gently as he taps out another message on his cell phone. _Bzzzz._

He heaves a sigh and picked it up.

_its hot_

_canu gett me sum ice creem_

_im sickk_

He puts the phone back down.

A foot nudged the side of his leg where he was sitting on the bed attempting to do research when he ignores him. Eames mimes eating ice cream and points toward the kitchen.

_Bzzzz._

_plz? :)_

Arthur still doesn't move. Eames frowns and taps another message.

_Bzzzz._

_< 3_

Arthur heaves a longsuffering sigh but gives in and goes to get him his ice cream, grabbing the chocolate syrup and sprinkles on the way back when another _Bzzzz_ reminds him not to forget the toppings.

* * *

"Your spelling is atrocious," Arthur informs Eames after five minutes of attempting to decipher a message. "I have no idea what that says."

_i no ur smart enuf 2 figur itout darrling_

The glare that Arthur directs his way is heated enough that Eames wonders if he should send another " _< 3_".

* * *

_Bzzzz._

"Isn't there something else you can do instead of texting me all day long?" Arthur says, as close to grumbling as he'll ever be. Eames just rubs his throat ruefully. After a moment, Arthur picks up his phone to look at the message.

_i wanna get up_

"So get up then," Arthur sighs. Eames rolls his eyes.

_ur sitting on te cuvers deer_

Arthur mutters to himself but swings his legs over the side of the bed. A hand on his arm stops him. When he looks over at Eames, the bedridden man, as he reminds Arthur thousands of times each day, looks at him earnestly. The hand comes up to cup his chin, fingers stroking his cheek. Arthur leans into the touch wearily before he realizes what he's doing.

* * *

By the time Eames's throat feels well enough to talk, Arthur looks like he is seriously considering committing mass homicide on every cell phone he can find. He has certainly takes his anger out on their's when Eames discovers that the toilet is clogged because of two waterlogged phones.

Arthur doesn't say anything when he appears in the kitchen for the first time in what feels like weeks. His cheerful "Good morning, love" only gets him a glance and a piece of toast that's been meticulously spread with butter. He wonders if Arthur's angry at him—but no, that can't be right because Arthur doesn't _look_ angry. Just in case though, he tones down his comments a little, in number and in volume, on the way to the warehouse.

The rest of the team is lounging around when they arrive, chatting amiably with one another and eating donuts. Eames lifts an eyebrow when they scramble out of their comfortable positions at the sight of him and Arthur. "Don't let me break up the party," he comments, snagging the last donut out of the box and taking a bite out of it. He breaks off half and gives it to Arthur, who takes it without a word and heads to his station.

Eames watches the others carefully to see if they think that Arthur's acting strangely, but they just disperse to their own stations with a slightly guilty air. Huh.

He doesn't get a lot of work done that day, mostly because he's too busy trying to gauge Arthur's mood. Finally, he gives up on work all together and wanders over to talk to Arthur. The point man spares him a glance before returning his eyes to his laptop. Undeterred, he perches on the corner of the desk and watches him type.

At their usual leaving time, the rest of the team decides to stay and continue to work. Arthur decides that Eames is feeling tired though, and so forces them to leave. Cobb calls after them, "Hey leave your phone on so we can reach you alright?"

Arthur looks at him. "It's not working," he says solemnly, before grabbing his coat and striding out the door. Cobb blinks.

Eames pauses at the door to shrug apologetically at Cobb before following.

The car ride back is silent. Eames is lost in his own thoughts, embroiled in a very important internal debate of is-Arthur-mad-at-me.

Arthur finally asks him, "Is everything all right?" when they're getting ready for bed.

"Brilliant," Eames says cheerfully. He forgets that internal debate and launches into a story of a girl in Zimbabwe who could apparently speak to cats that he had found while surfing the internet, emphasizing the best parts with animated hand gestures. The words trail off though, when he notices Arthur doesn't seem to be listening. There's a slight smile on his face and his eyes are closed. They open when he stops talking.

"Go on," Arthur says, sounding peeved.

_Ah._

"You missed my voice didn't you," Eames accuses triumphantly.

Arthur's cheeks turn just a shade redder. He doesn't deny it though. "Enjoy it while it lasts," he says with a not-roll of his eyes.

Eames slings an arm around the other man's shoulders and leans in to kiss his ear, murmuring delightedly, "Oh, darling, you know you love me."

There's no response but the last thing he feels before drifting off to sleep is Arthur's smile against the side of his neck.


End file.
